hanahaki (or: two birds/one poem)

1. 

there is a rotten smell

permeating this particular instance

of public transit

and i wonder if it is me

is this the aftermath of

what i never coughed up for you

in the midst of my unrequited love?

it wouldn’t be flowers for you, though

i think clovers would have been more fitting

like the one that you gave me

hand-crafted pendant on a leather cord

and i really have to be more careful

with my heart, don’t i?

all these pretty things i can write about love

can’t hold a candle to the real, reciprocated thing

and i realize now it was unfair of me

to ask of you something you could not give

but i love you just the same

albeit it with less heartache and tears

2. 

 that rot must be coming from me

and the roses

pink like the sunset and downy soft

i planted between my ribs for you

did you see that garden?

how i tried to give you everything i had

the way i allowed you to take and take

and asked for little in return?

but what is a garden

when it is trapped behind towering walls

with no one to see the way all those flowers shine,

and what a lonely thing that is

i choked myself on roses for you

and that wasn’t enough

was i not enough?

hard not to feel like it, if you must know

but i have better things to do

than make my throat bleed

with all these words and love

with nowhere to go

i think it’s time that i plant

some flowers for myself

no more roses or clovers

but maybe dandelions this time